Clean
by iluvzuzu
Summary: Neville's had a very, very long week. So he pops by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink or two and ends up chatting up the very... clean... barkeep. Oneshot.


When the bell above the door rang at precisely eight-thirty PM and twenty-four seconds on Sunday night, Hannah looked up, looked down, threw her rag behind her, fluffed her hair, looked up again, and smiled. "Hello there!" she called.

"Hi, Hannah," Neville said amiably. "It's been a while."

"Sure has," Hannah agreed, getting out a glass for him. "How've you been?"

"Fine," he said, "just fine. And you?"

"Brilliant," Hannah said, watching as he set his briefcase down next to his usual bar stool and shrugged out of his coat, sending melting snow slipping to the floor.

"Oh, damn. Sorry about that." He met her eyes apologetically, but she waved her hand.

"Oh, it's fine, I'll have Marti mop up later. No one's in here, really, so no one'll slip. It's fine," she concluded. She then began to busy herself with wiping down the bar again. "So what can I get you?"

"Merlin," Neville choked out, putting his head in his arms. "Anything," came the muffled reply. "As long as it's big, and strong, and full of lots and lots of alcohol."

Hannah laughed. "One of those days, Professor?"

"One of those _weeks,"_ Neville corrected. "One of those _months. _My god, I know I wasn't that much of a prat when we were at school. They're just—there are very disrespectful children in this world, Hannah." He sighed. "Draco Malfoy and his mates, reincarnated. Merlin. I dunno how the teachers stood us all."

"They can't _all _be bad," Hannah said, setting a large drink in front of Neville.

He raised his head only to take a large gulp before promptly replacing it in his arms. "No. Some of them are just sort of like me, all bumbling and whatnot. Only, they're just bumbling in my bloody greenhouse, and I won't stand for it, I _won't." _He proceeded to take a few more gulps before setting his head back down.

"It's not natural to see you so distraught," Hannah said truthfully, leaning forward with her fists pressed into her rosy cheeks, her elbows upright on the bar. "I really thought you'd enjoy teaching. Thought you were... I dunno, suited for it."

Neville's head popped up. "Oh, I am! Merlin, I love it, it's amazing."

Hannah cocked her head disconcertedly. "Er... but you said that—"

"Oh, don't listen to me," Neville said, wrinkling his nose and waving his hand in the air, "I'm talking rubbish. I mean, yeah, kids are snots, but then there are the ones that _get it. _The ones that _like it._ And giving that to them, showing them something important, _teaching _them something they love—well, that's it, isn't it? That's why we do it. Not as exciting, I s'pose, as leading the DA and all... but Herbology's... it's my _thing. _It's what I'm _good _at, yeah? And to pass that on, that's... that's really _special."_

Hannah giggled. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Oh," Neville said, looking thoroughly unworried as he tapped his now-empty glass on the edge of the bar, "well, just this, then, but that's not even the—no. All of that's true, regardless of what I've been drinking." He paused as she refilled his glass, and then took another sip. "How about you, Hannah? How're you liking it here?"

"Oh, it's _lovely," _she gushed. "I just—I was always so worried about what I would do when I grew up... but you know, this is exactly the sort of thing I need to be doing. To be around people, but not doing something I could easily muck up... you know. I'm not very bright," she admitted.

"Bollocks," Neville said loudly. "You're brilliant."

Hannah's cheeks, if possible, reddened even more. "Oh, do shut up. You know it's the truth. I was never particularly good at any one subject, and... this... a lot of people might look down on it. My mum, bless her soul, probably would have at first. But it's the sort of thing I ought to do."

"I think you're brilliant at it," Neville admitted. "You're so cheery, and you never make people wait, and you always listen if they want to talk with you, and you're always so... clean," he finished.

"Clean?" Hannah repeated, amused.

"Yeah," Neville said shiftily, avoiding her eye. "You know. Your hair's always washed and neat and it, you know, smells good and stuff."

"My hair smells good," Hannah repeated dryly, trying to keep the little spark of happiness she'd felt at his words out of her voice.

"Yeah."

Hannah giggled. "Why, Professor Longbottom," she said sultrily, leaning towards him across the bar and shaking her hair in his face, "I had no idea you cared!"

"Shut it!" Neville mumbled. "I just meant—"

"I know, Neville, I'm only teasing," Hannah retreated, smiling softly. She began to wipe down the bar once more.

"Hannah," he said, tapping his fingers on his glass.

"Hmm?" she asked, rag still in motion.

"You're not seeing anyone, are you?" he asked.

"Er," she said, dropping her rag, heart aflutter. "No. Not-Not really, no."

"Not _really," _he repeated.

"Well, you know. I'm a young woman, I'm not—I mean, I'm quite nice-looking if I do say so myself. I mean. Blokes _ask, _don't they," she demanded. "I mean," she continued softly, "I _do _go out on-on dates and such. But no, as of lately, I'm not seeing anyone in particular."

"Oh," Neville said, scratching at the faded scar across his cheek. "Well. So. D'you think you'd like to come out with me, then? Let me buy you a drink or something? Not tonight, I s'pose, it's far too late, and besides you're not off your shift until later, as it's Sunday and all and Greta's obviously off sick or something, 'cos she'd be lurking around and all if she was, and so there's no one to keep bar if I took you somewhere else and you really shouldn't drink on your shift, and all—" he cut himself off. "Yeah."

"Well," she said slowly, "I think I'd—I mean, yes, I think that would be. Yes. We ought to do that. I ought to let you buy me a drink."

"But not tonight," he repeated.

"No," she agreed, "not tonight. Maybe—maybe next Friday? I can have Greta and Oliver manage everything just fine," she planned, "and—yes. Does Friday work for you? This coming Friday, I mean."

"Yeah," Neville said slowly, a smile appearing on his face—still reminiscent of that round, little boy's face, but with harder angles and stubble. Hannah smiled back as he continued, "Yeah, Friday is good. I'll meet you here," he decided, "and then I'll take you out."

Hannah giggled. "Sounds lovely, Professor. Another drink for now?"

"No, thanks, I'd best be going. But I'll see you Friday," he promised.

"Yeah," she grinned as his fingers grazed hers as he paid for his drinks. "Friday."

He stood to leave, taking up his briefcase. When he neared the door again, he turned. "And Hannah?"

"Yes, Neville?" she asked, unable to stop smiling.

"When I said clean," he admitted, "what I meant was pretty. You-you're really quite pretty."

And with that, at precisely nine-and-five PM and thirty-two seconds on Sunday night, Neville Longbottom exited The Leaky Cauldron and headed out into the snow. Hannah returned to wiping down her bar and smiling.


End file.
